My Angel
by Heinz-Lee
Summary: A/U. What if Christine knew that Raoul would propose to her and what if she understood her feelings for Erik sooner? What if she visited Erik during the six months during which the opera house was being rebuilt? Read and find out ... Rated T for minor swearing.


A/N: This is an idea which came to mind when I was going through a tough spot in my relationship. I know Christine's description is totally different from every other story, but I hope it doesn't detract from your enjoyment of this story.

DEDICATION: To all hopeless romantics who believe love can conquer all obstacles. I hope you enjoy this story and please leave an honest review, even if you didn't like the story.

Disclaimer: This idea is entirely my own, however, all characters, songs and any other things you recognise belong to their original authors - I am only borrowing them.

MY ANGEL

She sat, small arms wrapped around her knees, staring with frightened eyes into the distance, as I watched her from my vantage point. What could have made her tremble like this why were her eyes so huge and dark just now? What made her bite on her lip as if she was holding back?

"O, Erik, I am a fool – a lost and frightened fool."

Her black hair fell like curtains framing her pail face as she stared at me. Oh, those eyes – those large steely eyes. Why could I not be the adult and turn away from this temptress, this angel of some cruel world, my souls torment? What sin had I committed that was great enough to deserve this suffering ... and yet ... what had I done right that this mischievous angel would bless me with her caring?

For she did care, I knew she did. I saw it every time I mentioned those vial women of my past, that fiery dragon that reared up in those large gentle eyes. A dragon which challenged any who dared to hurt the object of its attachment. I saw that deep caring and tenderness every time something bothered me ... that gentle way she crept up to me, wrapping those small arms around my waste to hold me against her ... never caring what or who saw her love. In those moments of tenderness, her love shone through as clear as daylight, although I had done my best to deny it with useless words: "She is young. She doesn't know what love is. She will only turn away like the others. She is so innocent and naive that she will be tainted by my darkness and leave me to rot in this pit."

It never happened.

No matter how many times I warned her away, telling her nonsense I knew neither of us believed, telling her I did not care for her, telling her she could get hurt, telling her it was pure lust, but I knew the truth. What was more, I knew she knew it as well. That fierce protectiveness she felt for me welled up within my soul as well and I could not deny it to myself as she sat looking vulnerable on my favourite seat. Large eyes staring into my heart from a pale face and I knew, as I had known from the first time I really took notice of her: I was lost.

"He always said he loved me, and for this whole time I never really believed him. How could he love someone as tainted as me? And yet ... yet he has loved me all this time with more love than I can give and I don't know what to do."

Tears started making their way down her cheeks as she hid her face on her knees. Twin urges burned in me at that moment of seeing her so beautiful, yet so vulnerable. The desire to take up the pencils I had left so long and to try to capture her on paper ... this angel, so beautiful that neither mortal nor immortal hand could hope to capture her spirit on cold paper. That gentleness with which she had crept under my skin, the rebellion when others dared to hold her back and the fire with which she protected those nearest her heart. I, a mere man, desired to capture this angel, this fleeting spirit which no immortal hand could paint. Yet this angel had been made by an immortal hand to brighten my existence with her pure heart.

Another, stronger desire took hold of me and against my better judgment I gave in. I went to her and wrapped my arms around her shaking shoulders. I knew it wounded her pride to let me see her like this ... anything less than strong and determined was beneath her. I understood this pride – this need to appear as more than she was – more than human, more than a mere girl – in a word "perfect". Nevertheless, she instinctively sort shelter in my cursed arms and hid that little head against my shoulder – and I knew that I had to protect her from whatever it was that had frightened her.

"He ... he wants to marry me. He says he knows I am the right one."

"And you don't want to?" I uttered it softly as if fearing the answer.

"I don't know anymore, I used to be so sure I wanted this, so certain it would be the perfect way to end things, but now ... now I am not sure anymore and that is what frightens me. What if I say 'No' and it turns out to be what I have wanted all along? What if I say 'yes' and it turns out to be the greatest mistake I have ever made? What if I wake up one day and realize I made a giant mistake and it is already too late to turn back? I just want to know what to do for once without this damn uncertainty."

I held her close, listening as she spoke, feeling her fear as she so often felt my hurt.

"You need time to think about it. He can't force you to do this if you don't want to."

"You know what the worst part is?"

"No," I ran my fingers through her hair, gently, with hands strong enough to hurt her if I really wanted to.

"Facing the hurt in his eyes when I tell him I have had enough. I can't do that, not again. It hurts too much. I would rather suffer and die inside than go through that again."

I just kept stroking her hair, allowing my hands to move gently down her back. "So he intends to marry her. That was the thing which had her in this state. She was afraid and uncertain about a probable engagement."

Like some kind of masochist I had to ask the questions which burned at the back of my throat. "Do you love him?"

"Most of the time I believe I do, other times I am not sure, whether I love him as a woman ought to love a man. Half the time it is like taking care of a little brother, the kind of brother who plays and annoys but cannot comprehend my misery when I need him to get serious and step into my shoes. Strange, since he is older than me."

I felt a smile cross my lips. She didn't know what hope that brought to my heart. How many times had I watched him with her in the last few years? I understood what she meant. She always had more maturity than the others – even more than he did.

This brought me to the next question – the one which could make or break me. "Do you love anyone else?"

Her eyes became, if possible, even larger as her cheeks reddened. I could see the answer in her face before she whispered: "Yes."

My heart seemed to burst. Was I hoping she could love me, a mere man, tainted by darkness and unworthy of her affection? I pressed my lips gently to her forehead before whispering the words which could make or break my already battered heart: "Do you ... could you find it in your heart to ... do you love me."

My voice shook with nerves as it had done years ago on the first night I really came to know her. My body trembled uncontrollably as the cynic in me expected the worst. What was the worst thing that could happen, anyway? Which was the lesser sin? If she loved me, she would be betraying him and if she didn't, then I knew my heart would be beyond repair. Could this angel who had seen into my heart with greater insight than any other really find it in her pure heart to love the best and worst of me? I needed to know and then I would slip away from her forever if I could bear it.

She hid her face, but not quickly enough. I saw the way it lit up, the way she smiled – a genuine smile – and the way her eyes sparkled. "You know I do."

It was a simple answer, and yet, it made my heart leap for sheer madness. This pure angel really loved me. And then it sank like a stone ... What of her suitor? I already knew the answer to that question. She would force herself to hold on, say 'yes' despite her misgivings – accept despite her love for me, because that pure heart would never allow her to cause another's suffering, she could not live with herself if her joy caused someone else to grieve.

"You know what I must do," she said sadly. As her arms tightened reflexively around my undernourished waste.

"O, sweet tormentor, why do you do this to me? You torture my soul with this madness men call love. Yet, My Temptress, I cannot set you free."

"What do you need to do, Dear?"

"I have to ... I must go to him and accept. I can't face the consequences if I don't. Will you promise me something?"

Her bright, wet eyes looked straight into mine and I knew I could not refuse anything she asked. I knew that I would do anything for her, even jump off a cliff if she desired it. With a sense of foreboding I nodded.

"Promise me ... promise that you will always be here for me; even when I am married. I can't face it if you left me alone."

"I promise," I said, knowing in my heart it was a foolish thing to do since I would have to watch her with him all the time: holding hands with him, marrying him, walking through the streets with him, possibly bearing his child, a child who by all rights should be mine, but I promised nonetheless. This angel – My angel – needed me and I would be right here, watching over her until she no longer needed me, or until my heart bled out for wanting her. And torture upon tortures, the innocent creature sealed it with a kiss.

A mocking voice in my head seemed to whisper "You have become soft, o great Phantom.", but I ignored it as I gave in to the forbidden fruit of those sweet lips.

A week later I hid myself in the shadows of the auditorium. Many patrons and members of my opera house danced, masks glittering in the light of the new chandelier. I kept my eyes averted from them, though, for my eyes longed only to see one face.

I tried to find her in the sea of masks, as couples danced, but there were too many people. Then I saw her. She wore a white gown which was chaste enough to leave many things to my over-active imagination. Her raven strands fell in a silken sheet around her shoulders and that face was covered in a glittering angels mask. How apt that she had chosen that specific disguise. I felt something break as that 'boy' of hers led her across the floor. Would he dare kiss those ruby lips and incur my wrath, or would he show caution for once? I felt the Phantom stirring in my blood as I watched them walk away to some secluded spot. I followed them and heard his clumsy proposal. I could see, in her body language that she didn't want him, but he pressed her and she conceded. I thought at that moment that my heart would break, until she sent the fool away and turned to face me.

"I know you're there, Erik. I can sense you. You know the truth."

Foolishly I whispered: "Meet me at our spot at midnight."

She nodded, then went away to dance.

3 Months after the masquerade, I watched from the rafters as they exchanged wedding vows. She still looked angelic in a white dress I had given her and yet, nobody knew our secret – not the many spectators who came to see the greatest deva known to man marrying one of the richest men, not the priest and not even her pet nobleman. Only she and I knew the reason why she had returned to a mostly destroyed building after midnight, only we knew how I had managed to survive and only she knew the secret which would make her legacy live forever.

She looked up to the rafters as if seeking something and mouthed the words: "I will always love you."

I smiled and slipped away, never too far to hear her call.

6 months after that terrible day when she married her 'boy' on a not so special wet night in early spring when the rain fell heavily on the ground, my angel came to see me for the last time. She was paler than ever as she quietly slipped into my Parisian home where I made money as a mysterious composer. She was shivering with cold and something else, her long hair drenched with water.

"Erik, I have come to give you one last gift before I die."

She coughed terribly and I felt my fury roar into life. Didn't that 'boy' know how to take care of one as delicate as her? How was it that he could allow her to get into this condition with all his money?

She came nearer and placed a bundle on my lap, a tiny, breathing bundle.

"Look at her Erik. Look at your daughter and tell her stories about her mother."

"But, You can't die," I said foolishly, putting the little bundle safely on a couch, before taking her mother in my arms and holding her as if I could save her by the strength of my love.

"I am dying, Erik. I have been suffering with consumption since the winter and the doctors say it is a miracle that she wasn't born with it. She is healthy."

"You can't. She needs you. I need you."

"You must go on for her sake, Erik. Please. It's no use trying to save me."

Her huge eyes bore into mine as I held her. "Promise me, Erik; promise me you will look after our daughter. Promise you will love our Danielle Angelique."

Resting my head on hers, I promised with all I had.

"Sing to me," she said finally. Her voice was very faint.

With deep grief ripping through me, I sang to her, as I had done before. My voice, raw with emotion, filled the still night as my angel - the only woman to accept my inner darkness - closed her eyes for the last time and became still in my arms. And I knew then, that I would do all in my power to keep my final promise to her.


End file.
